


Double Touch

by yhlee (etothey)



Category: Fence (Comics)
Genre: Fencing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 16:41:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16768945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etothey/pseuds/yhlee
Summary: Harvard doesn't think Aiden is interested.  As it turns out, the situation is more complicated than that.Thanks to PR Zed for the beta.





	Double Touch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zvi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zvi/gifts).



The salle had emptied out for the evening, and Harvard was practicing left-handed advances and retreats-- _Keep the body balanced,_ as Coach Williams liked to say--when he heard the familiar tread echoing his. _One advance, one retreat. Two advances, one retreat. Three advances, one retreat..._ It was, he reflected, a perfect metaphor for his approach to fencing: patient, workmanlike. Aiden, of course, called it--

"Don't you find that boring?" Aiden demanded. He was leaning against the wall, nonchalant as ever, kitted out and mask tucked under his arm. Some fencers liked to perch their masks on top of their heads instead of taking them all the way off, making them look like strange birds. Aiden had never been one of them. Harvard was secretly convinced that Aiden didn't like covering up his fabulous hair. And to be fair, it was _quite_ fabulous. But he'd never gotten the nerve to admit it to Aiden himself, not when he didn't know whether Aiden was, well, _interested_. Not _really_ interested.

"It's more fun with a friend," Harvard called out. _Five advances, one retreat_. He'd keep this up until he reached the end of the piste, at which point he'd do the same in reverse.

Aiden strode down the adjacent piste until they were side by side, instead of starting at the beginning. Typical Aiden. Together, they did six advances, one retreat. Then Aiden lost patience the way he always did, and zoomed forward in an advance-lunge.

"Nice legs," Harvard said dryly. "They'd be even nicer you ever bothered to _practice_."

Aiden made an exaggerated you-make-me-yawn motion. "Then let's do the real thing, not this nonsense. Let's fence."

Harvard paused, gestured at himself. He wasn't wired.

"C'mon. We can fence dry rather than wasting time with the electrical stuff. Or"--and Aiden's smile turned wicked--"do you think I'm going to _cheat_? You know I'm honest about _touches_."

Was that innuendo? "Nice try," Harvard said in between advances and retreats, "but I'm not one of the horde of freshmen who have crushes on you. You can't fool _me_."

A shadow passed over Aiden's face, then was gone so quickly that Harvard wondered if he'd imagined it. "It'll be good for you. None of this drill is any good if you don't fight a bout."

Harvard conceded this was true. Sure, they'd fenced recently, during the tryouts for the team, but it never hurt to get in more practice. And he _mostly_ trusted Aiden to be honest about scoring, even if they didn't have a third person to serve as the director and judge the bout.

"My piste or yours?" Aiden said in a purr.

Harvard rolled his eyes and sketched a salute with his épée. "Whichever."

"Mine, then." Aiden took up his position at the _en garde_ line. He saluted with a mocking flourish, then pulled his mask on.

Harvard followed suit.

"Let's make this more challenging," Aiden said.

"Yeah?" Harvard was immediately wary. Aiden liked mind games. It was part of what made him good at épée. When he could be bothered to study his opponents--or to show up at all--he was deadly. And of course, the two of them knew each other, had trained against each other since they started fencing as kids. They had no secrets from each other--or did they?

 _Focus,_ Harvard told himself. The piste was no place for unrequited crushes.

"Your low lines are weak," Aiden said, imitating Coach Williams' manner of speaking. "So how about it. See if you can score a toe hit."

"You'll see it coming."

"Not if you're good."

Harvard _heard_ Aiden's grin, since the mask hid Aiden's face. "Fine," Harvard said. " _Allez_!"

Aiden was fast. But Harvard was fast, too. The first exchange ended in a double touch. Which was no good, this early in the bout. Later, sure, if one of them pulled ahead. But not right now.

They reset to the _en garde_ lines. "What was that?" Aiden said chidingly. "You didn't even try for the stop-hit. The opening was _right there_."

"Nobody's perfect," Harvard said, deadpan.

"I'll make it easy for you, then. _Allez_!" Aiden backed up in response to Harvard's cautious advance, maintaining distance. His épée moved into a lateral parry quarte a hair too far to his left, leaving his leading foot open. "Come on, go for the meat."

"You're not edible, Aiden!" Harvard pressed forward, forcing Aiden back yet again. If Aiden was going to play hard to get, so be it. They didn't have a director timing inactive periods for non-combativity, but it would be ridiculous to stand around while Aiden _quipped_ the match away.

"Wouldn't you like to know."

An image flashed in Harvard's mind of Aiden with his shirt hanging open, the smooth broad expanse of his chest clearly visible, the latest time Harvard had caught him with his latest conquest. He cursed himself for getting distracted. All the time he'd known Aiden and he should be better than this.

Surprisingly, Aiden didn't take the opening. Instead, he began moving forwards and backwards, forwards and backwards, like a nervous dancer. They'd drilled this before, learning to take advantage of fencers who fell into a rhythm. It was a habit Harvard had mostly trained out of himself, and one that he rarely saw in Aiden. It had to be a trap.

"I'm waaaaaaiting," Aiden sang out.

The obvious thing was usually a bad idea in épée. Aiden was hard to predict, though, even after all this time, and sometimes the only way to find out was to spring the trap. He lunged down, for the foot.

Aiden didn't even bother parrying. " _Touché_!" he said. "See, you can do it when you put your mind to it. Ow, my toe." He hobbled back to the line, clearly faking it for sympathy points.

"Don't be an ass," Harvard retorted. What was Aiden playing at? Which was a hopeless question. He wasn't even sure _Aiden_ always knew what he was playing at. "If I have to practice attacks on the low lines, the least you can do is give me a proper parry-riposte."

"Well, since you _asked_ for it..."

The same sequence, the same back-and-forth motions. It almost looked hypnotic.

Harvard _liked_ watching Aiden when he fenced his best. Which he usually did, give him credit for that. Aiden was a show-off. His deficiencies on the team mainly had to do with being absent half the time; during his appearances, he was spectacular. But watching the opponent meant analyzing the opponent, too, and fencing to win. Aiden might screw around during a practice bout, but Harvard took everything seriously. It wasn't the only difference between them.

Harvard wasn't going to try for another toe hit. Too much of an invitation. Of course, maybe that was exactly what Aiden was counting on.

As it turned out, Aiden closed the distance and lunged first. Harvard's circular parry came a moment too late, and he was hit on the underside of the arm. "Nice," Harvard said, acknowledging the point. "You're always good at that."

"Of course I am," Aiden said, modest as always. He took the next three points in rapid succession, although Harvard made him work for it. "No point in bothering with breaks." He leaned forward, struck a pose, one hip jutting toward Harvard. "Besides, I like seeing you sweat."

"Don't, Harvard said, suddenly nettled. "Don't flirt with me like I'm one of your _flings_." He came in fast, was parried, scored a point on the counterparry.

"Why, jealous?"

Double touch. They were so close that, if they'd been fencing electric, they'd have been in danger of their wires tangling. Crossed wires; how apt.

 _Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy,_ Harvard told himself. He shouldn't have been fencing this deep, not when he knew exactly how quick Aiden was, and how long his lunges were. Some fencers were infighters, but Harvard wasn't one of them; he preferred a more conservative approach.

Aiden took off his mask with jerky motions. Sweat streaked his face; his eyes were hectically bright. "Looks like I hit a nerve." He poked at Harvard's shoe with his weapon, stopping just short of contact.

"One of these days," Harvard said, fighting to regain his composure, "you're going to mouth off to the wrong person and lose a match because you get carded." He kept his mask on.

Aiden leaned in closer. He turned the full force of his smile on Harvard. "Are you the wrong person, then?"

Harvard grabbed Aiden's shoulder with his off hand, shoved him back just hard enough to get some space. Even as he did so, he wondered if this was what he really wanted. "I'm just saying not everyone is going to put up with you."

"Is that what you're doing?" Aiden's tone became dangerous. "Putting up with me?" He pivoted on his heel, stepped in again.

Harvard stood his ground. "Cut it out, Aiden. This isn't funny."

"I'm not doing this because it's _funny_."

Did he have to spell it out? "Look," Harvard said, despite the hollow ache in his heart, "look, let's be honest with each other, okay? I _know_ you. You enjoy the chase. You go after whoever catches your eye. And you show them a good time, but then you lose interest and you break up with them and forget their names. I'm not going to be the latest conquest, Aiden."

"They don't _mean_ anything," Aiden said with a dismissive toss of his head. "You know I'm here when it counts." 

"Are you?" Harvard demanded. "Half the time you don't show up to practice. You skate by because you're good at needling people, but you could be even better."

"Always the captain," Aiden said, mocking.

"Why," Harvard said, "was there something else you wanted me to be?" Too close to the truth he'd never spoken before--but he'd come too far to back out now.

Aiden traced a circle around his toe with the tip of his épée. "I don't know what you mean."

"I think you do," Harvard said. He was tired of Aiden's excuses. He wanted a straight answer for once. "If it's all a _game_ to you, why do you bother showing up at all?"

Aiden's face cleared of expression. Then: "It's the one thing that matters," he said.

"Then _act_ like it." Harvard didn't shout; it wouldn't do any good. But his frustration came out in his voice anyway. "Show up on time and set a good example for Nicholas--goodness knows, Seiji's not going to be a problem in that department. Show up to our _matches_. Help me work with the--"

"You think this is about the _team_?" Aiden flung his épée and mask down and snatched at Harvard's mask.

Harvard yelped. "What do you think you're doing?"

Aiden wasn't having any of it. He clawed off Harvard's mask and set it down more sedately, as if it deserved more consideration. Then he grabbed Harvard's head and dragged him in for a kiss.

When Aiden let him up for air, Harvard said breathlessly, "I see why you've gone through so many casualties." It was not what he'd meant to say, but on the other hand Aiden didn't seem to mind. Harvard's heart was beating so wildly he was afraid it would fly away and he would never see it again.

"You idiot," Aiden said. "All that time I was hoping _someone_ would actually look at me. _You're_ not an overnight fling. I just--I didn't want to mess things up between us. Not when it's the only good thing in my life. And"--he grinned--"I actually know your name. Now do you want to argue about this, or do you want me to kiss me again?"

There was only one possible answer to that.


End file.
